Skechers: Walk Away
I don't know who did it, but somebody informed my toddler she's about to turn 2, and she has been acting accordingly. (Perhaps it's something in the water-- the cat has also been getting on my last nerve. Right now he's eating Walt, my indoor potted palm. I digress.)
She discovered lately that it's really fun to take off her shoes (Velcro) in the car, and even more fun to increase her glee in proportion to how firmly Mommy says, "Rora, DON'T TOUCH YOUR SHOES!" So I decided it's time for some shoes that can be double-knotted.
Since I am a Skechers devotée (I'm a jeans 'n' tennies kinda gal) I headed over the mall to buy Aurora her very first pair of Skechers. And fortunately for someone else *whistles*, they had a BOGO-half off sale.
I walked into the store where I was promptly ignored by three salespeople hanging out behind the register. I proceeded to the back, where the kids' shoes were. I found a pair I liked immediately (and so did Rora, because they light up.) But I wanted to have her feet measured, since it had been awhile.
I looked around for a foot measury-thingy. Nope. I looked at the register, where the three employees were engaged in conversation regarding somebody's boyfriend. I said, "Excuse me." Nothing. "EXCUSE ME?" I waved my hand, in the vain hope that perhaps their visual acuity, like the T-Rex, was based on motion.
Before I had a chance to get louder or storm over to the cash wrap (while keeping a certain little gremlin from opening every shoebox on the shelf) an employee emerged from the back room, walking right past me. "Excuse me," I said gratefully. He shook his head. "You need a salesman," he said, and yelled, "YO!" to the chittering employees.
One of them finally lumbered over to me. "Hi," I said, "I'd like my daughter's feet measured."
He disappeared without a word (I cheerfully imagined, Sure, ma'am, I'll go get the measury-thingy. I'll be right back. I often fantasize about decent customer service. Forbidden fruit and all.) He did return shortly with the device. And . . .
He dropped it on the floor at my feet. So I, the pregnant woman, crouch down and measure my kid's feet while he stands there staring. (In my mind: Here, let me just measure her feet for you. Why don't you sit down in this chair? Make yourself comfortable.) When I was done, I said (irritated and semi-sarcastic), "Thanks." He walked away again, rejoining his comrades behind the register.
I looked on the shelf. She measured a 6, but she's been a 6 for awhile. Perhaps a 6.5 would be a wiser purchase to allow for the inevitable growth. (Fellow parents will recognize the phenomenon of spending money on a particular size of clothing, only to have said child grow 3'' overnight.) I didn't see a 6.5. I snagged a woman heading toward the back from where she'd been cackling at the register. "Are there any more sizes in the back?" She said she'd check.
She returned. No 6.5, she said. "Do you need anything else?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm going to buy myself a pair, too." (Internally: Sure, do you need any help finding a size? What kind of style were you interested in?) Actual response: "Okay"-- AS SHE WALKED AWAY.
Fortunately I'm familiar with my own shoe size, and found what I wanted easily, because I am a very boring shoe-wearer. And thus ended my foray into the Lightning Round . . .
posted by Me @ 5:12 PM
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